


PRIDE

by tricia_16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gay Pride, Happy Ending, Homophobic Behavior, M/M, Oral Sex, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricia_16/pseuds/tricia_16
Summary: Married life for Castiel and Dean is pretty much exactly what they hoped it would be: ordinary, but filled with love, laughter, and plenty of orgasms. When ignorance rears its ugly head in a cruel and unexpected way, their simple lives are suddenly not so simple anymore. It's a rude awakening that shakes them both to the core, but what doesn't kill them makes them stronger, and thanks to the kindness of strangers, enriches their livesandtheir relationship in more ways than one.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 120
Kudos: 640
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I feel like everybody could use a little bit of extra love right now, I hope you enjoy this short little story that’s bursting with it 💚💙

Castiel glances up from his book curiously when he sees Dean enter the bedroom holding his hands up and away from his body. Castiel keeps an eye on him while Dean walks around to Castiel’s side of the bed with a playful smile on his face. 

He opens his mouth to ask what Dean’s doing, but before he gets the words all the way out, Dean lunges at him and places his hands on Castiel’s bare chest. He yelps when he feels the shock from static electricity—the charge Dean was obviously trying to hold onto in order to shock him—and pushes Dean’s smiling face away with a huff of annoyed laughter. 

“I can’t believe you went to all that trouble _ just _ to shock me.”

Dean snorts. “I can. It was hilarious.” Castiel rolls his eyes fondly at his husband. It’s been almost ten years since they met and got married in their mid-twenties, and Dean hasn’t lost an ounce of his boyish charms _ or _good looks. It’s unfair, frankly. “Want a blow job before bed?”

As usual, his cheeks heat up from the blunt way Dean talks about sex. “As much as I hate to deny those pretty lips anything, my stomach’s not feeling so well after all that pork for dinner.”

Dean nods as he figures out what Castiel refuses to voice. “So you’re saying you’re afraid you’re gonna gas me out if I get you _ too _ relaxed. I hear you loud and clear, Cas. Maybe tomorrow?”

Castiel takes off his reading glasses and places them on the bedside table along with his book, ignoring Dean’s comment about how he typically reacts to pork, then leans across to lay a lingering kiss on his husband’s lips. “Definitely tomorrow. And I’ll even reciprocate,” he teases.

“Hot damn,” Dean says enthusiastically, as if Castiel would _ ever _ leave Dean unsatisfied after fooling around. “You goin’ to bed now?”

Knowing that Dean prefers them to turn out their lights at the same time has Castiel offering, “I can read a little more if you want.”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I’m beat, too.”

They both turn out their lights, and as usual, Dean turns his back so that Castiel can snuggle in behind him, making himself the big spoon and Dean the little spoon. There’s a bit of shifting until Castiel finds the sweet spot where their bodies line up just right, then he drops a kiss on the back of Dean’s neck. 

“Goodnight. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Cas.” 

He knows that Dean is stressed from the busy season at the garage, so he links their fingers together and brushes his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand until he hears Dean’s breathing start to slow. Only then does he close his own eyes and try to drift off, knowing that the person he loves most in the world is safe, loved, and fast asleep. 

The next day starts off as a typical Wednesday. They kiss goodbye briefly at the door where Dean leaves his wedding ring in the dish there, then Dean goes to work at the garage and Castiel starts his day with a run. 

He’s lucky that they chose a suburban neighborhood that he enjoys running in. They bought a house here seven years ago now after living together for five years in a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment complex. The additional space, garden, and garage are all things they were looking forward to, but Castiel didn’t know until they moved here how much he would appreciate the sense of community their little house on the cul-de-sac has brought to him. 

Though he isn’t on a first name basis with most of the people who live close by, he does know a lot of them by sight. He knows there’s a blonde lady who works at the local police station who recently got a divorce. She lives right across from them, and she has a golden retriever he likes to pet whenever he’s outside. There’s a British guy a couple houses down who Dean refers to as “Big Head.” This man is particularly friendly with Dean, though he’s never exchanged anything other than a smile with Castiel. Castiel has _ never _ seen the man in anything other than a suit, not even when he puts the garbage out, and it’s become somewhat of a game for him to see if he can catch the man in his pajamas or something. So far, no luck.

There’s another older single lady who seems to have a good handle on the many teenage children she has living with her. Though Castiel has never asked, he assumes she fosters them since the teenagers come and go often enough, and he knows based on the way he sees them waiting for the bus every morning and doing chores like cutting the lawn on the weekends that she’s doing an admirable job. 

There’s an interracial married couple around their age who live at the far end of the street, and Ellen and Jo, mother and daughter, own the house next door _ and _ the only bar within walking distance. With Dean’s love of burgers and beer, it’s no wonder that they’re on a first-name basis with those two. 

He passes each of their houses one by one on his run, nodding to anybody on their way out of the house and stopping to pet the golden retriever on his way back, thinking to himself once again how lucky he and Dean have been to make a home in such a charming neighborhood. 

He goes home and showers as usual, settling into his office with a mug of tea to start working on his book for the day. It isn’t until he gets an unexpected package in the mail addressed to Dean that things veer off in an unexpected direction. 

He wants to open the bubble wrapped envelope, but he texts Dean first to make sure it’s okay.   
  
**CASTIEL:** A package arrived for you today. Can I open it?   
**DEAN: ** You can handle my package anytime, hot stuff 😎👉👉  
**DEAN:** (That’s a yes)  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes at his husband and tears into the envelope, where he finds a rather large rainbow flag. A gay pride flag.   
  
**CASTIEL:** What’s this for?   
**DEAN: ** Thought we could hang it outside the house. Spruce the place up a little bit. Piss off any Trump supporters.   
**DEAN:** Is that okay?  
**CASTIEL: ** Fine with me 😊  
  
Truthfully, it’s _ more _ than fine with him. When they met so long ago, Dean was... ashamed isn’t the right word, but he definitely spent a lot of time and effort to keep his sexuality a secret. When Dean finally did come out as bisexual to some of the people he was closest to in his life, including his dad before he passed and the last girl he dated before he and Castiel met, both of them reacted _ very _ poorly. 

So to see him now, out and proud enough to want a rather large flag on their front porch for the world to see it has Castiel’s chest puffing out with so much pride he wouldn’t be surprised if he was lifted right off of his feet because of it. 

The extra confirmation that Dean’s as happy in their marriage as he is is always good, too. Castiel loves their relationship and their day-to-day life, but he knows their routine is far more comfortable than it is exciting. Most days are the same: waking up together, showering (most often alone, sometimes not), Dean shoving something sugary in his mouth on the way out the door for breakfast, and Castiel going for a run before settling into his office. Castiel makes dinner most weeknights, and they sit together at the small table once Dean comes home, either discussing their days, current events, or what their friends are talking about on social media. They sleep in on the weekends, do their errands and most of the housework then, and generally go out one weekend night either just the two of them, or to spend time with friends. 

It might be a simple life, but it’s what he’s wished for since he was a small boy, and sharing it with Dean is better than he ever could have imagined. 

Because he’s ahead of his word count for the week and he’s feeling particularly fond of Dean at the moment, he spends his afternoon making the man he loves a good old fashioned apple pie for dessert. He had already planned on tacos for dinner, which is one of Dean’s favorite meals, so he feels good about doing something small that he knows will make Dean feel extra loved and appreciated today. 

The afternoon goes by quickly, and by the time he hears the familiar sound of Dean’s Chevy Impala pulling into the garage, he has everything ready. 

Dean has barely stepped through the door when Castiel hears him call, “Do I smell pie?” He doesn’t answer, knowing that Dean’s nose will lead him right to the kitchen, which is where he greets Dean with a broad smile. “God damn, do I love you.”

He accepts the tight hug and smacking kiss to his lips even though Dean’s covered in engine grease, and even pulls him in for another longer, more substantial kiss. Dean hums against his lips in surprise, and Castiel’s heart flips in his chest when he feels the broad set of Dean’s shoulders relax as Dean sinks into it. The rasp of their facial hair scraping together is no less familiar than the manly scent of motor oil and sweat that often clings to Dean after a day’s work, but that doesn’t mean the butterflies don’t come to life in his stomach as their tongues slide together the same way they always do. 

Dean’s fingers brush through his hair and down to the base of his neck, the cool metal on his skin letting him know Dean put his ring on as soon as he came home as usual, and their mouths pull apart. When Dean takes half of a step back, they both have small, happy smiles on their faces. 

“Hello to you, too,” Dean says dreamily. Castiel’s smile only grows, and Dean adds, “Gonna go hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll give you a hand with anything that needs it.” There isn’t anything, but he nods anyway. Dean turns back to point at him as he walks towards the stairs that will lead him to the main bathroom. “Sit down and take a load off until I come back.”

“Yes, dear,” he replies, feeling settled the way he always does when Dean gets home. Their house is always so quiet without his big personality and frequent laughter to help fill it up, and though it’s probably pathetic to admit it after so many years together, he misses Dean when he’s at work. 

Dean looks more handsome than anybody should have the right to when he comes down in a pair of blue jeans with a hole in the knee (and one in the back pocket he knows of but can’t currently see) and a worn AC/DC t-shirt. His hair is still damp from his shower and the intoxicating scent of his body wash permeates the air around him when Dean walks by to pull the fridge open and retrieve a couple of beers. 

Dean hands one out to him, waiting with an impatient expression on his face until Castiel takes it. “You don’t listen,” Dean says, his eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. Dean nods to the kitchen table. “Park it, mister. I’m serving.”

“It’s tacos,” Castiel says dryly. “It’s easier if we each—”

Dean stops him by raising his hand. “What’d I _ just say _ about listening?” 

Castiel huffs quietly, but because he knows Dean’s mood turns sour quickly when he feels like Castiel does more work around the house than he does, he goes to sit down even though it doesn’t make any sense. To Dean’s credit, he prepares Castiel’s tacos exactly the same way he would have himself, so he really can’t complain. The beer’s going down really well, too. 

Dean places their plates on the table and takes his seat next to him, reaching over to cover his hand briefly. “Thanks for cooking.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says simply. They both dig into their dinner after that, and Castiel waits for Dean to swallow his mouthful before he asks his first question. “How was your day?”

“Back’s killing me,” Dean admits. “Probably moved forty sets of tires today.”

“T’is the season,” Castiel comments. 

Dean grunts his agreement around a mouthful. “You get any writing done, or was it angry baking today?”

“I’m still a few thousand words ahead of schedule.”

“Are they still enemies or have they moved onto lovers already?” Dean wonders. 

Castiel’s lips twitch. “Somewhere in between at the moment, which is very confusing for our sweet baby gay when the jerk he’s falling for looks at him like he wants to devour him while they’re arguing.”

“Baby gay,” Dean chortles. “You sound like Charlie.” Castiel laughs at that, because Dean’s absolutely right. He doesn’t get a chance to comment on that before Dean declares, “We don’t have enough angry sex.”

Castiel snorts another laugh at the abrupt, ridiculous observation. “I don’t think we argue enough for that.”

“Well, I oughta start pissing you off more often then,” Dean jokes, nudging him with his elbow. 

“Mmhmm,” Castiel says, voicing his skepticism at the idea. “Because when I am angry with you, having sex is so often on the forefront of my mind.”

“I’m insulted,” Dean says, though Castiel can tell from the tone of voice that he’s not really. “Sex with me should always be on the forefront of your mind.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve been thinking about your offer from last night all day, then.”

Dean lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Is that so?”

Castiel shakes his head with fond exasperation. “Would I have said so if it wasn’t?”

Dean only wiggles his eyebrows. They continue to talk about their days until they both finish eating, then start the ritual of packing away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher. It’s almost seven by the time they’re done and he’s ready to sit and relax for the evening now that his chores for the day are completed, but when Dean asks him if he can give him a hand hanging up the pride flag outside, he agrees. 

Because they’re both stubborn, there’s a lengthy debate about where to hang it. Castiel thinks it will look most aesthetically pleasing on the garage door, but Dean thinks there’s a chance it will get tangled and stuck when the garage door goes up or down. Considering he knows next to nothing about the mechanics of anything but writing, he’s forced to defer to Dean’s knowledge, and so they ultimately agree hanging it on the front porch is the best option.

Castiel leans over his lilac bush to hold the flag across the railing while Dean marks where to put the hooks on either side of it, and then Castiel has the pleasure of watching his incredibly handsome husband drill two holes in the railing for the hooks.

“Would you cut it out?” Dean scoffs when he sees the way Castiel is looking at him. “It’s a drill, Cas. Not rocket science.”

As far as Castiel is concerned, it might as well be. “I don’t know why you’re complaining when you’re the one who’s going to reap the benefits from me getting turned on by you being so manly and _ competent _ with tools,” Castiel points out. “And you’re hardly helping things with the way you’re blushing.”

“You’d be blushing too if your horny husband was lookin’ at you like he wanted to fuck you in the front yard.”

“Because _ that’s _ definitely never happened before,” Castiel says sarcastically, vividly remembering the reaction Dean had the first time they washed Dean’s car together after they moved in. Apparently, a wet t-shirt and Castiel treating Dean’s “Baby” with the love and tenderness it deserved was all it took to have Dean out of his mind with lust, and Castiel barely managed to get him into the garage and hit the button to close the door before Dean was on his knees and giving Castiel the most enthusiastic blow job of his life. “I believe I said then that I would never willingly share how beautiful you are when you come undone for me, and my stance on that hasn’t changed.”

“Even though my ass got hairier?” Dean quips. When Dean sees Castiel roll his eyes, Dean’s smile turns to outright laughter—the loud kind that booms from low in his belly and crinkles his eyes at the sides—and that right there is why Castiel never truly gets tired of Dean’s crude comments. Not when his reactions always make Dean so happy. 

“Even though your ass got hairier,” Castiel confirms, which only makes Dean laugh harder.

“You ever wonder what people would think if they overheard the conversations we have?” Dean asks.

“All the time. I imagine your potty mouth and inability to keep your hands off of me in public is the topic of many discussions on that app people use to complain about their neighbors,” he teases. 

“God, I hope so,” Dean says reverently. As Castiel takes a few steps back so that he’s on the sidewalk, Dean comes down the stairs and nods at the final product once he reaches Castiel’s side. “What do you think?”

Dean’s arm goes around his shoulders, so he slips his around Dean’s waist and looks at the large gay pride flag that dominates their front porch. If he thought he was proud of Dean for purchasing it, it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming joy that spreads through him now that they’re looking at it. 

They’ve come so far.

“I love it,” Castiel says. 

He doesn’t manage to hide the way he’s getting choked up the way he hoped he could, so he’s not surprised when Dean picks up on the emotion wavering in his voice. 

“C’mere,” Dean urges him, pulling him in and enveloping Castiel in his arms. He buries his face in the spot where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, breathing in the soothing scent of the man he loves. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, gorgeous?”

He swallows down the lump in his throat, and though his voice is still shaky, he admits, “I’m just so proud of you. I remember... how you were before... and to see you do this, to know you thought of it first, to know you felt comfortable enough to make a statement like this. It makes me happier than I can say.”

Dean turns his head to press a kiss to Castiel’s temple. “All ‘cause of you, Cas.”

Castiel feels the compliment warm his insides like sunshine on a rainy day, but he shakes his head anyway, thinking of the countless hours Dean spent in therapy, having difficult conversations with Sam, with _ him. _ “Don’t belittle all of the hard work you went through to get here on your own. _ You _ did this. I just supported you.”

“Still never would’ve even tried if it weren’t for you comin’ along with all your tough love.” Castiel considers that. He’s wondered over the years if putting the kinds of conditions he did on his and Dean’s relationship when it started getting serious was the right thing to do, but hearing Dean say this now lays most of those fears to rest. 

He takes a page out of Dean’s book to lighten the mood. “I’m sure all the sex didn’t hurt.”

“Easy for you to say, I’m the one who couldn’t walk properly for the first year we were together,” Dean jokes, and just like that, they’re both smiling when they break apart. “Let’s really up the gay factor and take a picture in front of it,” Dean suggests.

“You just want to post it to troll for homophobes, don't you?” Castiel asks knowingly.

Dean grins wide and unashamed. “It’s the best way to weed out the stragglers on my feed. Come on. Be my gay husband.”

“I believe we crossed that bridge several years ago,” Castiel points out, but as Dean frees his phone from his jeans pocket, Castiel gets into position with Dean for the requested photo. They do a few with Dean’s arm around his shoulders, then, predictably, Dean kisses his cheek for another. 

“Gimme a big, fat kiss, buddy,” Dean coaxes him, and because he can see on the screen how vibrantly happy Dean looks standing in front of the rainbow flag behind him, he can’t resist leaning in and pressing their lips together. Just to one-up his cheeky husband, he even parts his lips and licks into Dean’s mouth, delighting in the sharp inhale of breath he gets before Dean kisses him back with equal vigor. 

“Gay enough for you?” Castiel asks once they part, taking stock of Dean’s flushed cheeks and darkened pupils.

“Wanna defile the garage floor again?” Dean asks back.

Castiel laughs, but he also turns and walks back into the house before Dean looks at him the right way and manages to talk him into it. They may have been together a while, but he’s still every bit as affected by Dean’s good looks as he was the day they met. Maybe even more now that he knows how good of a man he is on the inside, too.

He’s comfortable on the couch by the time Dean comes inside, and they share a smile when Dean takes the seat on the opposite end, pulling Castiel’s feet into his lap. Castiel turns his attention back to The Voice while Dean works on his phone, and it’s a few minutes later when he gets the notification that he’s been tagged on Facebook. He smiles softly when he sees the pictures, and breathes through a laugh when he reads the caption.

“So gay for this devastatingly handsome son of a bitch I had to claim him with my last name and my flag. #WheresThePole #LGBTQPride” 

“You are insufferable,” he says to Dean.

Dean has a cheesy grin on his face when he looks up. “Yeah, but you love me.”

“Always,” Castiel promises. 

Castiel goes upstairs to get ready for bed after The Voice is over. He brushes his teeth and uses the bathroom, then loses his shirt and changes into a pair of pajama pants. Dean comes up about ten minutes after he’s started reading, and after Dean hangs a couple of Castiel’s shirts in the closet to dry, he strips down to a pair of pajama pants too. 

Dean climbs into bed and immediately rolls over onto his side towards Castiel. Castiel pretends to ignore him for the first few minutes when Dean’s hand slowly travels from his hip, over his flat stomach, up his sides and onto his chest, but as soon as Dean moves in to start mouthing at his neck, goosebumps pop up along his skin and he knows there’s no use trying to keep up the farce. Dean grabs a handful of his ass when he turns over to put his book and glasses away, sending a lick of desire through his core, and by the time he’s on his back again, Dean’s laid out next to him, looking more tempting than he could possibly be expected to resist. 

He gets on top of him, straddling one of Dean’s legs and pressing his thickening cock to the crease of Dean’s hip as he holds eye contact, then leans in to capture Dean’s plump lips with his own. Kissing Dean is like coming home after a long day; it’s familiar, comforting, and just feels _ right. _He takes care to ensure not a single kiss is routine, though, changing the way their mouths come together in deep, passionate kisses to sharp nips and needy scrapes of his teeth. Dean’s mouth tastes like toothpaste at first, but as Castiel explores the warmth of it with his lips and tongue, his unique flavor starts to come through and Castiel is sure he’ll never be able to get enough.

They start moving together while Castiel ravishes Dean’s mouth, causing both of them to swell to full hardness as the friction on their erections increases the building heat between them. Castiel trails his lips down the side of Dean’s face to the magic little spot he discovered so long ago just below Dean’s jaw, taking pleasure in the way Dean’s fingers dig into his back when he nibbles on it. Hearing Dean’s breathless exhalation means he takes up camp right there, working that one square inch of his skin with his lips, teeth, and tongue until it’s red and raw, but not so much that it will leave a bruise behind. 

Only then does he continue his journey down Dean’s broad chest to his nipples, lifting his gaze just to get a glimpse of the anticipation in Dean’s eyes. Instead, he sees Dean’s teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, his cheeks are already rosy with arousal, and it’s unrestrained _ hunger _ he sees looking back at him. 

Dean wants this as badly as he does tonight. 

The confirmation spurs him on, drives him to move things along and latch onto one of Dean’s nipples, flicking over the budding flesh with the tip of his tongue. That pulls the first low sound of pleasure from his husband, and because it’s such a beautiful sound, Castiel lets one hand skirt down Dean’s side to fondle his sac in hopes of earning another. 

“Mmuh,” Dean breathes, pushing into it. His hips thrusting up into nothing reminds Castiel what he originally promised tonight, and though he has other things in mind now with the way Dean just seems so eager for it, he drags his tongue down Dean’s chest, leaving a wet trail in his wake until he reaches his pelvis. He parts his lips and drops open-mouthed kisses, inching closer and closer to his goal, feeling provocative and powerful when he feels Dean’s chest heaving, his body writhing, clearly desperate for Castiel’s mouth to complete its journey.

He stops just long enough to strip away both of their pants, toss them on the floor, then he wraps his lips around Dean’s fully erect cock and sinks down his length all at once without even bothering to hold him steady first. Dean curses under his breath, and between one heartbeat and the next, Dean’s hands push into his hair and his fingers get a good grip. Castiel lets his muscles go lax, encouraging Dean to move him the way he wants to, and happily swallows him whole when Dean pushes him down until his nose meets his wiry pubic hair.

“Oh _ fuck,” _ Dean breathes. Castiel glances up at him again, enraptured by the look of wanton pleasure all over his husband’s face. “Your fucking mouth, Cas, god _ damn.” _

He follows the pace Dean guides him into, slurping all the way to the top to lick across the blunt head before Dean shoves him right back down until Dean’s thick cock is entering his throat. Again and again he swallows Dean down, saliva dripping down his chin and coating Dean’s cock as he bobs his head, the wet, messy sounds only seeming to drive them both on faster and harder until Dean has ahold of him by the back of his head and is fucking his face without restraint. 

Castiel sucks and hums around him, tugging gently on his balls the way Dean likes, and slowly but surely trails his fingers further and further behind his heavy sac until he’s rubbing two fingers dry against Dean’s hole. Dean jerks, spasms, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he hasn’t gotten a mouthful of salty fluid yet, he would think Dean just came. 

Instead, he hears a wrecked voice ask, “You gonna fuck me, Cas?”

Castiel answers with an affirmative hum, the blood in his veins heating to a boil at the very thought. While they have no shortage of orgasms in their marriage, they don’t always make it all the way to intercourse before they get carried away. It’s been a few weeks at this point, and _ yes, _ Castiel desperately wants to bury himself inside the man he loves. He wants to hear the sounds he only ever manages to wring from Dean when he’s balls deep inside of him, when he’s stimulating Dean’s prostate with every thrust, and he loses any semblance of patience he was trying to hold onto now that he’s thinking about it. 

He applies suction as he pulls all the way to the tip and off of Dean’s cock, then stretches out over Dean to reach for the bottle of lube in the nightstand. 

“Come’ere,” Dean urges him, pulling at the back of his thighs until Castiel walks on his knees to straddle Dean’s face. Dean gets two hands on his ass and tugs him in, licking his lips in an invitation Castiel has seldom been able to turn down. He forgets all about the lube and wraps his fingers around his shaft instead, leaning forward until his weeping cockhead parts Dean’s freshly moistened lips. He glosses Dean’s slightly kiss-swollen flesh with his precum, his heart hammering in his chest and his dick growing impossibly harder from the erotic sight, and then he’s pushing into the wet, welcome heat of his husband’s mouth. He groans low in his throat, torn between wanting to watch his cock disappear into Dean’s mouth, tugging at the corners and pulling his lips taut, and drinking in the way Dean’s eyes roll up into his head and his eyelashes flutter as he starts to suck like his life depends on it. 

_ Holy fuck, _ Dean’s mouth would be a national treasure if other people had the filthy pleasure of knowing the way this man can suck cock. Always so willing, and _ eager, _ insatiable participant anytime he has Castiel’s dick in his mouth. After so many years together, Dean knows exactly what Castiel likes, precisely how to drive him purposely and efficiently to the very height of his pleasure before he shoves him over the cliff and sends him spiraling head-first into the kind of toe-curling orgasm that leaves him boneless for _ hours _ afterwards, and he’s putting that knowledge to good use right now. 

Even though they’ve barely gotten started and he’s only felt the sublime friction of Dean’s lips sliding up and down his cock a few times, he knows just from the way Dean’s curling his tongue along the underside of his cock and his fingers are flexing firmly enough to have Castiel rocking into Dean’s mouth that he’s not going to last like this. He presses in just once—nice and deep until his balls are resting on Dean’s chin and Dean’s eyes are opened wide with how stuffed full his mouth is—concentrating on the sinful sensation of Dean’s throat fluttering and struggling to hold him in place before he pulls out with a shuddering breath. 

He grabs the lube and slithers back down Dean’s body, sealing their lips together as he fits himself between Dean’s legs. He uses one hand to open the lube, and though he’s loathe to break away from the way Dean’s sucking on the tip of his tongue in a vivid imitation of the way he was milking his cock only a minute ago, he has to sit up on his knees so he can squeeze the lube on his fingers. 

He plans to keep his eyes on where Dean’s licking his lips like he can’t get enough of his particular taste, but then Dean starts lazily stroking his cock as he waits for Castiel to move things along, and well, he’s not about to look away from the show his husband is so willingly putting on for him.

“Faster,” Castiel suggests, and Dean’s breath hitches as his speed increases. Castiel nudges Dean’s thighs apart, cupping his balls with one hand and slipping two fingers inside of him with no preamble whatsoever. He twists his wrist, spreading his fingers because he knows how much Dean likes the stretch, and zeroes in on his prostate.

The first subtle prod has Dean’s soft stomach clenching and his chest tightening with the quick inhale, and by god does he want to feel the tense grip on his fingers constricting around his cock instead. He coats Dean’s insides with the lube, then slicks up his hand and guides Dean’s beautiful bow legs up and over his shoulders. He lines himself up, tortures them both by resting the blunt head of his cock between Dean’s cheeks for three unbearably long, electrifying seconds, and then he spears inside of his husband in one fluid stroke that has them both making indistinguishable sounds of pleasure.

Even after all these years, Dean’s so fucking tight around him, warm and slick, and it’s the single best physical sensation he can ever remember feeling. Dean doesn’t need time to get used to it anymore, but _ he _ does, and so instead of fucking into Dean like a madman the way he really wants to, he angles his hips this way and that, grinding deep inside of Dean, marveling at how snugly he fits while he searches for just the right angle to—

Dean jolts, choking on a curse.

_ There. _

Now with a particular target in mind, he smiles down at the man he loves, rears back, and snaps his hips until he’s buried to the root. Dean nods fervently with his mouth hanging open, encouraging him to do it again, and Castiel complies immediately, sheathing himself to the hilt once more. Dean’s brutally stripping his cock, fucking the tunnel of his fist with a wet squelch that sends additional heat through him like an electric current every time he hears it. Right from the start, he’s set a ruthless, riotous pace neither of them has any hope of maintaining. Even so, he gives it the best he’s got, knowing that Dean’s more likely to come faster if he really lays into him. And god, the way Dean lies back and takes it, the way Dean’s body sucks him in after every thrust as if Castiel was always meant to fill him up just like this has him putting more power behind the next snap of his hips. 

Dean’s inching up the bed now, pushed back closer and closer to the headboard with each vigorous meeting of their bodies, and Castiel groans unabashedly when Dean has to free his cock to brace himself with his hands over his head. He sweeps his eyes over Dean’s bulging biceps, his strong forearms, the way his shoulders flex and tighten with every thrust. He’s fucking gorgeous, too enticing for his own good, and god, he’s all his to worship and ruin and fuck his orgasm right out of him.

More determined than ever, he presses Dean more firmly into the mattress, sinking in a little bit deeper and circling his hips in a dirty little grind that puts relentless pressure on Dean’s prostate. He feasts on every choked-off sound Dean produces, gets off on the quiet thud of Dean’s cock slapping his stomach, of the bed frame creaking under the strain of their passionate lovemaking. 

The pressure low in his groin is building rapidly, rising to the enticing point of no return, driving him to chase his pleasure with less finesse and more intensity. 

“Yeah, come on,” Dean encourages him. “Give it to me, Cas. Let me feel you.”

Castiel drives into him, one long stroke between half a dozen short, shallow thrusts, getting closer and closer with every one. _ Fuck, _ his mounting pleasure feels good. It’s always so good with Dean, every single time, but it’s sharper now after thinking about this all day, after wanting Dean, wanting to feel him squeeze around him just like this. 

“Dean,” Castiel rasps, the single word coming out among heavy, labored breaths. 

He knows something’s coming when Dean looks up, catching his eye and grinning like the devil, but Dean still surprises him by using the leverage he has on the headboard to push himself down into the next thrust. Their bodies come together with a dull _ smack, _ the pressure reverberating through his very core, and when _ Dean _ circles his hips, rides down against his cock with a filthy undulation of his hips and _ squeezes, _Castiel’s orgasm seems to rip through him all at once. 

_ “F-fuck,” _ he stutters, all-encompassing heat flashing over his skin in an instant. His eyes slam shut as he pumps his hips desperately, cursing and blessing Dean mindlessly as he empties load after load of cum deep inside of Dean’s perfect ass. 

He can hardly _see_ _straight _when he pulls out, still mostly hard and completely out of breath, but determined to make Dean feel every bit as good as he does. He wraps his lips around Dean’s rock hard cock and swallows it down along with Dean’s appreciative moan, and though Dean has to do most of the work by grabbing a hold of his sweaty hair and thrusting up into his still-panting mouth, neither of them are complaining. At some point, Castiel comes back to himself enough to shove three fingers into Dean’s cum-sloppy hole, and the second he rubs the pads of his fingers on Dean’s prostate, Dean’s thighs lock up and he’s coming hot and thick into Castiel’s mouth with a hoarse shout. 

He’s exhausted, but Dean is _ glorious _ when he comes, so Castiel pries his eyes open to see the look of rapture on Dean’s face as he swallows down his spend. Once he sucks him dry, he heaves himself up and onto Dean’s chest, where he collapses with Dean’s arms already around him and Dean’s lips pressed to his hair. 

“Holy shit,” Dean says breathlessly. Castiel only has enough energy to hum his agreement. “Seriously. Solid ten outta ten, buddy.” 

A part of him wants to be insulted, knowing he’s earned a 13/10 back in his day, but he’s far, far too relaxed to bring that up right now. 

“Don’t you fall asleep on me,” Dean warns. “I’ve got a slip and slide coming outta my ass and I’m not falling asleep in a puddle of spunk.”

“Just once,” Castiel sighs heavily, “could you shut up long enough to let me catch my breath afterwards?”

Dean huffs a laugh, but relents. “Five minutes.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says with feeling. Then, more genuinely, he adds, “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replies fondly. 

He’s out like a light three minutes later.


	2. Chapter 2

He _ knew _ Cas was going to fall asleep. Every goddamn time they fuck, Cas passes out and is dead to the world until the next morning. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so freaking adorable. 

He takes Cas’s significant dead weight until he feels his heart rate slow back down to normal, then he gives his husband one big push to roll the fucker over. Cas goes silently, completely pliant, and Dean drags his own ass out of bed to mop himself up and use the can. 

He brings a cloth back with him, carefully cleaning off Cas’s dick and stomach, solidifying his Husband Of The Year Award by making sure Cas doesn’t wake up tomorrow morning with cum crusted to his pubes or itching his skin. He considers putting some boxers on him, but he’s fucking beat from such a good fuck, so he does the lazy thing and crawls into bed buck ass naked with his husband. 

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he likes it best when Cas holds him until he falls asleep. Since that isn’t an option right now, he cozies up to Cas and lays his head on his shoulder, smiling to himself when Cas wraps a protective arm around him even in his sleep. Dean usually struggles to fall asleep, unlike Cas who can drift off in seconds once he closes his eyes, but not tonight. Tonight, the warmth radiating off of Cas and the lingering euphoria from a really good orgasm has him falling asleep in minutes. 

The next morning, Cas surprises him by joining him in the shower. 

He’s not much of a morning person, but he’s also not dumb enough to turn away from an offered kiss from his naked husband. Especially when his naked husband happens to be made up of more than six feet of tanned skin and lean, runner’s muscles. 

Cas’s eyes are soft when he speaks once their lips part. “Thank you for cleaning me up last night.”

Dean grabs the body wash and lathers up his hands before running them over his own chest. “For better or worse or whatever, right?” 

“I do so love your way with words,” Cas teases him, turning Dean around to take over washing his chest and stomach for him. Cas’s big hands on his body are never _ not _ a turn on, so while he’s not surprised to feel his dick plumping up as Cas moves to his shoulders and down his back, he _ is _ surprised when Cas gets a firm grip on his ass cheeks. “Are you sore?”

His eyebrows shoot up and he’s sure his dick just went 0-60 in a single second, but he keeps his voice neutral as Cas runs his nose up the length of his neck and nuzzles into his ear. “Nah, not really.”

Cas spreads his cheeks and slips soapy fingers along his crack. “I’m not sure I got the need for you completely out of my system last night.” 

He wasn’t planning on shower sex this morning, but he’s definitely on board. “Better give it another shot, then.”

Dean washes the soap off of his body while Cas reaches for the lube, and a few minutes later, he’s braced against the wall with one foot up on the corner of the tub and Cas slamming into him from behind. Cas has one hand stroking Dean’s cock in a counter-rhythm to the way he’s fucking him, and because the angle is perfect and Cas’s freaking giant hand feels unbelievable, it’s less than ten minutes later when Cas comes all over his ass and Dean paints the shower tile white with thick ropes of his cum. 

“Jesus,” he says breathlessly, slumping forward against the wall so his legs don’t give out on him. 

Cas nuzzles into his warm skin, kissing the side of his face until he turns his head to meet Cas’s lips for an uncoordinated but still satisfying kiss.

“I needed that,” Cas admits. “You were incredible.”

“Literally anytime,” Dean promises, soaking up the few moments of closeness they have left before he needs to get out and get ready for work. The more he’s able to think, the more he realizes he can’t even remember the last time they fucked two days in a row. “You okay?” he checks. 

“I don’t think it gets much better than this,” Cas answers. “Why?”

Dean shrugs a shoulder, straightening up and leaning back against Cas’s solid body instead. “Been a while since we fucked twice in a row. Just wanted to make sure you’re not trying to fuck out a sudden attraction to some pretty twink or something.”

He’s mostly joking, because he’s absolutely sure Cas hasn’t had eyes for anybody but him since the day they met, but it’s always good to get the thought completely out of his mind. 

“Never,” Cas assures him. “My tastes these days run towards you and only you. Every day for the rest of my life, my love.”

That’s a good answer, but he can tell by the tone of Cas’s voice that there’s more, so he waits him out. 

“I suppose you making the choice to hang that flag had me feeling nostalgic in a way. Proud of how far we’ve come, secure in our happiness, and pleased I’m still the only one who knows how much you enjoy being fucked.”

Dean chuckles breathlessly at his husband’s possessive nature. “This ass is all yours, Cas.”

“Well, I’m a very lucky man.” 

Dean turns to face him, tilting his head down to erase the two inches of space separating them, and planting a soft, lingering kiss on Cas’s mouth that has joy spreading through him like a hot drink on a cold day. “Love you,” he says between kisses, still feeling Cas’s lips moving against his as he speaks. 

“And I you,” Cas replies, running his hands up his back in soft, soothing circles. “Endlessly.”

Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s neck and opens his mouth for another kiss, enjoying the familiar but still exhilarating sensation of their lips moving together. A big part of him would like to stay here forever, feeling safe and secure and so fucking loved in Cas’s arms, but he knows they’ve already taken up too much time this morning. 

So as much as it pains him, he pulls out of the kiss. “Let’s order in tonight, just the two of us. We can open up a bottle of wine and make out on the couch in our matching Batman pajamas.”

Cas smiles up at him fondly, the kind of smile only he ever gets. “I would love that.”

“It’s a date,” he declares. “Now keep your hands to yourself so I can wash my hair and get to work on time.”

“Yes, dear.”

He hurries through the rest of his shower, laughing when Cas keeps groping him even though he’s only doing it to be annoying, then changes into his work uniform and runs down the stairs with the kind of bounce in his step he could only ever have in the morning because of two amazing orgasms in less than 12 hours. As usual, he crams a Pop Tart in his mouth, grabs his keys and the travel mug of coffee that goes on a timer, and unlocks the front door. 

“See ya after work,” he calls up to Cas, slipping his wedding ring off of his finger and placing it in the dish by the door with a pang of regret. Every damn day he hates taking off his ring, but he’s heard too many horror stories about mechanics and wedding rings to leave it on. 

“Have a good day,” Cas calls back. 

With that, he opens the front door and bolts down the front steps, pausing when he hears an unusual _ crunch _ beneath his foot. 

He glances down and sees something white, a piece of plastic or something he dismisses as soon as he gets an eye on it, but when he sees a trail of it on the sidewalk as he keeps walking, he looks around trying to find a source. 

His confusion only grows when he sees something that looks like clear slime thrown over Cas’s butterfly bush, but the yellow steak on the porch railing puts everything into perspective pretty damn fast, especially once he lifts his gaze to their pride flag. 

The pride flag that has clearly been egged over night. 

His heart sinks like a stone and he fucking hates the way bile rises in his throat between one second and the next, but the sight of the flag that made him so unbelievably happy yesterday looking like a war zone is such a shock to his system that the coffee mug falls to the ground with a thud and a splash. 

He closes his eyes, trying to take in a deep breath so he doesn’t blow chunks all over the sidewalk, and tries to think through what the hell is going on. Who the fuck would do this? They’ve lived here for the better part of ten years and nobody in the neighborhood has ever given them so much as a dirty look. He _ never _would have hung this flag if he thought it was unsafe in any way, if he thought something like this would happen. 

The longer he looks at it, the more his hands start shaking. Memories of his father calling him every homophobic slur under the sun crash into him like physical blows, and goddammit, he knows it makes him a fucking coward but the only thing he can think to do is yell for the one person he knows who can help calm him down before his knees buckle with the weight of the first anxiety attack he’s had in a decade. 

“Cas!” It comes out broken and more quiet than it needs to be, so he takes a deep breath and tries again. _ “Cas!” _

Whether Cas heard him the first time or if he was just about to come outside for his run anyway, Cas opens the door immediately. “What?” All it takes is one look at him and Cas is flying down the steps. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean can only point in front of him with a shaky hand, and before Cas has even gotten a look, Dean buries his face in Cas’s chest. “Fuck,” Cas whispers hoarsely, wrapping his arms around Dean nice and tight. “I’m so sorry you had to see this. Are you okay?”

Dean just barely manages to shake his head no. Part of him feels like he’s being a big fucking baby but the other part of him is honestly shaken to the core. He feels unsafe in his own neighborhood, standing in front of his own fucking house. Hell, even _ hugging _ his husband on the fucking sidewalk could be giving some douchebag another reason to vandalize the home he’s worked his whole goddamn life for. 

“Who—”

But Cas cuts him off with a quiet, “Shh. You don’t have to worry about it, okay?” Cas pulls away only enough so that he can cup his face. “I’ve got this. I’m going to drive you to work, and by the time you get home, this will all be dealt with. I’d like to say we can pretend it never happened, but I know we won’t really be able to do that. So all I can do is try to make this as easy on you as possible.”

Dean swallows down the thickness in his throat in order to ask, “What about you?”

Cas leans in to brush his lips to his forehead. “I’ll be fine.”

“How’re you gonna get back from my work? Uber?”

Cas gestures down to his running shoes. “Looks like I’ll have a new route to run for today.”

Even with everything that’s happening—even with the crushing realization that his flag, his _ home, _ was egged purely because of who he fell in love with—he still loves Cas so much in this moment that it fills him with enough surety to say it. “I love you so... so damn much.”

“I love you, too,” Cas replies. “And that’s why we’re not going to let what some homophobic asshole did ruin what we have, what we’ve built, what we mean to each other. Okay? ‘Love conquers hate’ and all those other bumper stickers slogans.” Dean musters up half a smile. “And we’ll stop and get you a new coffee on the way. Bring donuts for everybody so they don’t care if you're a few minutes late.”

_ That _ earns him a real smile. “You’re just racking up the brownie points.”

Cas shoots him a playful grin, and he fucking _ knows _ what’s going to come out of his mouth before he even says it. _ “Donut _ points.”

And amazingly, despite everything, Dean gets into the passenger seat of the Impala with a smile on his face, deliberately keeping his eye on the man he loves instead of the mess still waiting in front of their house.

Castiel wasn’t planning on a six mile run this morning, but then again, he has enough pent up rage inside of him to fuel an entire marathon. So yes, he’s absolutely _ dripping _ with sweat and his legs feel like rubber by the time he’s reached their street, but all it takes is one look at Dean’s coffee mug tipped over on the sidewalk to give him the energy to walk into the house, wipe his face, and walk right back out.

He had put on a brave front for Dean, but internally, he’s so furious he stalks across the street and knocks on the blonde police officer’s door without even thinking about what he’s doing. 

He hears the bark of her golden retriever and her quiet voice, “Alright, alright, don’t ch’ya turn yourself inside out now.” The barking stops just as she pulls open the door and greets him with a smile, holding the dog back by its collar. “Howdy, neighbor.”

“Hi. Sorry to just knock on your door like this, but my husband and I had a little bit of trouble this morning and you were the first person I thought of.”

Her entire demeanor changes in a split second. “Stay,” she commands the dog. She straightens up, squares her shoulders, and her eyes seem more alert than friendly now, too. “Is everybody okay?”

“Yes, we’re both fine,” he assures her. He steps back and gestures to their flag. “See that?”

Her smile grows warm again. “You betcha. I saw the two of you putting it up last night. Cutie patooties.”

He can’t help but blush slightly at the comment. “Thank you. Dean and I—well, Dean more specifically—has come a long way to get to a place where he felt safe to put that up. And on his way out the door to go to work this morning, he saw it had been egged overnight.”

Her lips pull into a tight line and she exhales loudly through her nose. “Oh boy. You mind if I come take a look-see?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

She waves him away. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. That’s what I’m here for. C’mon.”

She leaves the dog in the house and they start walking across the street. “Have yas had any trouble with anybody in the neighborhood?”

“No, ma’am,” Castiel answers immediately.

“Nothing?” she prods. “Not even silly little things like a garbage can blowing into somebody else’s driveway, a comment about somebody not keeping their lawn mowed, any of Miss Moseley’s kids give you a hard time?”  
  
“Nope.” He wonders briefly if maybe somebody said something to Dean, but the idea of Dean _ not _ dramatically recounting a petty encounter over a garbage can is laughable. “Dean hasn’t said anything to me either, and I know he would.”

“Mmm.” It’s not a comment, but it’s acknowledgement that she’s heard him at least, and they both stay silent after that until they come to a stop when they reach the sidewalk in front of his house. “Well, let’s take a look at the damage.”

One glance at the eggshells sitting in his lilac bush has an icy cold rage shooting through his veins, but the moment he sees the stains all over the pride flag, it freezes over completely and he’s _ so mad _ he could strangle whoever did this to something that brought them so much joy only a day ago. 

“You okay there, big fella?” 

Castiel turns his attention back to the lady next to him, only now realizing that his hands are clenched into fists and he’s breathing heavily. “Honestly? I’ve never been more angry _ in my life _ than I am right now.” She nods, and he explodes with, “Why? Why would somebody do this? What fucking difference does it make to whoever did this what the person I share my life with has between his legs? What does doing this accomplish? Is it going to break up a decade of marriage? Make us love each other any less? It’s pointless and senseless and ignorant and I’m so fucking _ furious _ this person hurt Dean that I could scream.”

“So scream.”

He stops mid-rant, mid-step, mid-thought, and stares.

“Scream,” she tells him again. “I’d rather you let it now than let it keep building in you all day and lose your cool on somebody who has nothing to do with any of this.”

Instead, he takes a deep, calming breath, trying to remind himself that it’s not okay to take this out on the poor woman who isn’t even on duty. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

The woman makes another inconsequential sound. “You’re not, but you’re a tough nut, and I’m thinkin’ it’s gonna take more than this to make you crack. But just in case, I needja to take another big ole breath for me—what’s your name, anyway?”

“Castiel.”

“Donna,” she tells him. “I want you to take a deep breath for me and get yourself back together, because I think we better call the station.”

“The police station?” he questions. 

“Oh, you betcha. You need to have your head on straight so that when somebody moseys on down here to take an official report, you don’t leave out anything important.”

Castiel’s still floored she thinks he should call the police. “You think that’s necessary? It’s just a twenty dollar flag.”

“It’s not just any flag though,” Donna points out. “And because of that, I gotta ask myself... is this a random act of vandalism? Just a couple of kids being rebellious and not realizing the kind of harm they’re doing, or...?”

“Or?” he prompts.

“Or is this a hate crime?”

_ A hate crime? _

“Chances are, it was a buncha kids doing what kids do. But at the same time, if something else were to happen here, or to you or Dean, I’d be kicking myself for not getting an official report done.”

_ Something could happen to Dean? _

“Dean?” he repeats, his whole world narrowed down to the heart-stopping reality that his husband might not be safe.

“I’m not saying it’s going to happen, or even that it’s likely, I’m just saying... it’s better to document this just in case. Better safe than sorry.” He stands there looking at the flag without seeing it, thoughts of the man who’s come to mean more to him than any other living human being possibly in danger all jumbled up with wondering how things went so wrong so fast that he’s suddenly unsure if it’s okay to keep living here. “Castiel,” Donna says firmly, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. “You should call the police station, honey.”

He nods, feeling like he has a proverbial frog in his throat, and because rage isn’t enough to keep him standing with the idea of something happening to Dean still echoing in his head, he has to stumble to the steps to take a seat first. 

She tells him the phone number and watches him dial with shaking fingers, and she doesn’t stray from his side for a moment even though it’s nearly thirty minutes before a police cruiser pulls up in front of the house. Donna gives his back a friendly pat and then gets up, and walks over to talk to another female officer. 

“Castiel?” she says, calling him down only a minute later. He walks over to join them, shaking the offered hand of the new police officer. 

“Officer Jody Mills,” the woman tells him.

“Castiel Novak.”

“Donna here tells me your house came out on the wrong end of a fight with some eggs.”

Despite the serious subject matter, he chuckles quietly at the joke. “You could say that, yeah.”

She asks him the same questions as Donna did. Does he know who would do this? Does he have any enemies? Has he had any run-ins with anybody in the neighborhood, anybody at work, anybody who knows where he lives? Has he gotten into any arguments with anybody online who might be able to find out where he lives?

When his answers to all of those questions are no, Officer Mills asks to take some photos for evidence. By this time, it’s impossible not to notice that Ellen has come out of her house and spoken to Donna, and he also sees who he now knows is Miss Moseley meet Ellen halfway between their houses. He supposes the news will be all over the neighborhood by the time the day is over. 

God, he hates that he has to wonder who out of the people he sees every day is most likely to have done this to them.

But that’s what the subtle questioning from Officer Mills has unintentionally made clear for him. What are the chances that it was a stranger when they only _ just _ put the flag up that evening? How would anybody know it’s up if they hadn’t already seen it? They’re in a cul-de-sac, if it wasn’t somebody who already lived on their street, why would they come onto a road that leads to nowhere?

Chances are, this was done by somebody in their neighborhood, somebody he knows by sight if not by name, and that pisses him off all over again.

A little while later, Officer Mills tells him she has everything she needs to file his report, and she leaves a business card with him, making him promise to call her if Dean has anything at all to add or if the situation escalates at all. 

Once he learns Donna has just gotten off a night shift, he shoos her back to her house after thanking her profusely and once again promising to tell her if anything else happens. Now with the pictures taken and on his own once again, he goes inside to gather cleaning supplies. He needs to make sure Dean doesn’t come home at the end of the day to the same mess he woke up to this morning. 

Or at least that’s his intention. 

For some odd reason, the moment he steps through the door of his home and his eyes fall onto the little dish next to the front door where Dean’s wedding ring rests, he feels grief hit him like a wall.

Tears blur his vision as he slides down the door, and by the time he hits the floor, his body is wracked with almost violent sobs. Even as the tears stream down his face, he knows logically that crying won’t help a single thing, but that still isn’t enough to stop him.

He sits there and he cries.

He cries for the pain he saw on the face of the man he loves this morning.

He cries for the memories he knows Dean would have relived the moment he saw their vandalized flag.

He cries for Dean having to endure those memories in the first place.

He cries for every time the two of them received a dirty look or an unkind comment in the grocery store.

He cries for how unjust and unfair it is that they can’t just be happy, be together, be in love, without the outside world judging and criticizing their every move.

He has no idea how long he sits there or how long it takes for the tears to stop, all he knows is that they do eventually. He’s still shaky when he lifts his head from where it was pillowed on his knees, and the first thing he sees is a photo of his wedding day on the wall.

He and Dean got married at the courthouse, with less than a dozen of their closest friends and remaining family by their sides, but the smiles on their faces and love in their eyes as they stand in front of the officiant and say their vows is evident in every feature. It’s a double frame. In one photo, Dean is looking at Castiel with tears running down his face but crinkles around his eyes because he’s smiling so big. In the other photo, Castiel is looking at Dean with his eyes brimming with tears and a smile so wide his gums are showing. Their hands are clasped together, they’re holding eye contact, and his favorite part of both photos is the wonder on their faces.

They were so in love.

They still are.

And that’s what ultimately gives him the strength to pull himself to his feet.

Yes, things might be more difficult for him and Dean than they would be if either of them had been a woman instead of a man, but that doesn’t mean what they have together isn’t worth every bit of it. He loves Dean enough to withstand his house being egged every day for the rest of his life if he had to, and although it may be more difficult for Dean because of his past, he’s confident Dean would say the same thing if push came to shove.

And _ because _ he loves Dean so much, he walks into the kitchen to fill a bucket with hot, soapy water just so that Dean won’t have to later. He grabs a sponge, the broom, the dust pan, and tucks a pair of rubber gloves under his arm, then heads outside to make sure there won’t be a single piece of eggshell or disgusting smear of egg whites anywhere to be seen by the time Dean gets home. 

It’s a bit of a struggle to get the front door open again, but when he does, he’s met with the sight of Ellen crouched down on the porch with a sponge in her hand and Miss Moseley on the sidewalk in front of his house. Another few steps reveals that Miss Moseley has a broom in hand and eggshells in a pile beside her.

“What are you doing?” he asks stupidly.

Ellen glances up at him with her eyes shining but her jaw set. “What’s it look like we’re doing?”

“We’re makin’ things right,” Miss Moseley says.

Ten minutes ago, he thought he was out of tears, but the moisture building behind his eyes now proves that wasn’t true after all. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Not a day in all my years I’ve done a thing I didn’t want to do, sugar, and I’m not about to start today,” Miss Moseley tells him. “Now, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna save this old lady a pain in her back and help me sweep this up?”

Castiel springs into action, hurrying down the stairs to hold the dust pan for Miss Moseley so she doesn’t have to. “I don’t think we’ve properly met,” he says a minute later, offering his hand for a shake. “I’m Castiel.”

She takes it with a firm grip but a soft smile. “I know who you are, sugar. The laughter and happiness you’ve brought into this neighborhood with that boy of yours is somethin’ else. It’s a pleasure to meet you, son.”

He smiles back, but has to ask. “We’re not that loud, are we?”

Ellen snorts a laugh. “Dean’s got a booming voice, that’s for damn sure.”

“Mmmhmm,” Miss Moseley agrees. “But I meant your presence, honey.” When Castiel can only tilt his head in confusion, she huffs, but explains. “I see you laughing when you’re bringing the groceries inside. I see you holding hands and loving freely. I see you with the teal pumpkin on your step, handing out more candy than any other house at Halloween.”

“Making the rest of us look bad,” Ellen adds.

“I see you shaking your head while you help your husband untangle more Christmas lights than any one house should ever need just because it makes his soul brighter. I’ve seen your man shoveling your driveway and then the one across the way for Donna without being asked.”

“Helped me and Jo carry in our new couch, too,” Ellen says. “And Dean brings our garbage cans to the door when we’re not home to do it ourselves, too, so they don’t blow onto the road and give Ketch something else to sneer at.”

Castiel is overwhelmed and uncomfortable with how they’re making him and Dean out to be these amazing people. “That’s all just—the decent thing to do.”

“And so’s this,” Miss Mosely says simply.

“You kids don’t deserve this crap,” Ellen says frankly. “You don’t cause nobody any trouble, and you look out for those around you. Now it’s our turn to have _ your _ backs.”

“We’re gonna keep our eyes peeled, child. Ain’t nothin’ like this gonna happen in our neighborhood again, I can promise you that. We’ll keep you boys safe, you hear?”

He stands there completely frozen while the women work around him, unable to do anything but breathe as fresh tears roll down his cheeks, and although it’s several minutes later when he’s finally able to make his mouth work, nobody does anything but smile warmly at him when he eventually gets out the only two words that come to mind.

“Thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean doesn’t have a good day.

Big shocker, right?

Yeah, the coffee and donuts helped, but at the back of his mind—hell, at the _ front _ of his mind—all damn day has been that sinking feeling in his stomach when he saw the flag. He’s been fighting back memories of shit his dad said to him before he came out about how “fucking disgusting” gay people are, and then _ after _ he came out, to knock it off because no son of his was going to bend over for another man. No fucking wonder he didn’t want to tell anybody after that. Until Cas came along. 

Cas is the one who made anything his dad or anybody else could ever say to him about being bi worth it. Because being with Cas was worth it all. 

And maybe that explains why all day long the only thing that brings him any level of comfort at all is thinking about going home to Cas tonight.

Cas has been _ so Cas _ about all of this, meaning he’s been supportive, and understanding, and just the good side of overprotective. He generally only gets a text or two throughout the day from Cas, asking about dinner, how his day is going, a funny meme or Tweet he saw online. But today? He’s gotten no less than five texts, all of them asking how’s he doing, saying that Cas is thinking of him, that Cas loves him, that Cas can’t wait for him to get home. 

Every text reminds him why he wouldn’t change Cas for anything, even with all the bullshit that comes with being in love with another dude. So yeah, it’s cheesy as hell, but because he wants to say thanks for being amazing, he makes one quick stop on his way home. It’s nothing special, but Cas always goes soft for flowers, so he scoops up a bouquet of bright, smiley gerbera daisies. 

As much as he doesn’t want it ruining his mood, he has to check out how much of the mess is left by the flag on his way into the house. Except the flag isn’t there anymore. Probably a good idea not to leave something with food on it outside in the sun, but it’s still a bummer to see the empty space where the flag had been yesterday.

If it wasn’t for the two hooks on the porch, he wouldn’t be able to tell the flag was ever here at all or that it was egged sometime last night. There’s not a single piece of eggshell to be found, the sidewalk is clear of any and all egg boogers, and even the bushes look like they’ve been watered down to get rid of any mess. _ Jesus, _ he loves Cas. He knows that Cas did this for him, to make sure there was nothing left for him to be upset about when he gets home, and impossibly, his love for his husband only grows.

He’s been anxious to get home all day, and the sense of comfort he gets just from opening the door and putting his ring back on his finger is all-encompassing. 

He doesn’t even have to fake the smile when he calls, “Honey, I’m home!”

His breath catches in his throat when Cas comes out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in each hand, barefoot and wearing his favorite pair of thin grey sleep pants. He can’t even be mad that they're not the Batman pajamas he mentioned earlier, because these are slung low on Cas’s sharp hip bones, hanging on as if by magic, and he knows from experience that they frame his ass just as well. Cas is wearing a plain, deep blue, henley of Dean’s that’s just a little loose on his shoulders, sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, showing off strong forearms and just a hint of a strip of golden skin where his shirt and pants don’t quite meet. Cas didn’t shave today, so his facial hair is filled in a shade thicker than a typical five o’clock shadow, and his hair is standing up in haphazard spikes, telling him Cas spent a lot of time in the office this afternoon.

In short, he looks extremely fuckable. 

And then Cas’s face breaks out in a smile as bright as the sun when Dean pulls the flowers out from behind his back, and Dean remembers for the tenth time today why he married this guy. 

“Are those for me?” Cas asks needlessly.

“Nah, they’re for my other boyfriend,” Dean quips. “But I guess since I saw you first...” 

Cas is clearly not offended, because he leans in and plants a firm kiss to his lips before handing him a glass of wine. Dean exchanges the flowers for the wine, and watches with a soft smile when Cas buries his face in the bouquet and breathes in deep. 

“They’re lovely.”

“Nothin’ like that pie you made me yesterday, but I was thinkin’ about you.”

“I was thinking about you,” Cas echoes.

Dean grins. “I know. You texted me five times.”

“I was worried about you,” Cas says softly.

“I know,” Dean replies. Ten years ago, that would’ve had his back up. A comment like that would have had him scoffing and assuring Cas that he can take care of himself, thank you very much. But now it just reminds him that he’s not in this alone and that he doesn’t have to try to be strong enough to handle everything by himself anymore. “It was a shitty day, but I feel better now that I’m home.” Something relaxes in Cas he didn’t notice was tense until right now, and it makes him curious, but he knows Cas will explain eventually. “I’m gonna take this up to the shower. Be back in a jiff.”

He showers off the layer of grease and sweat, groaning quietly at the sensation of the hot water beating down on his back. Because it feels so good, he drags his shower out a little longer than normal, so he rushes through drying off and tugs on a pair of pajama pants that have little cartoon hot dogs on them, knowing that they could both use the laugh today. He tops it off with a plain red tee, styles his hair blind, and runs down the stairs with his now empty wine glass. 

Cas is sitting on the couch, so Dean refills both of their glasses, and when Cas wordlessly opens his arms, Dean goes into them willingly. He lies in the vee of Cas’s spread legs, belly to belly with his head on Cas’s chest. Cas doesn’t waste a single second before his arms are coming around him, and for what feels like the first time all day, he breathes out a sigh of relief as he relaxes into his husband’s arms. 

He feels Cas kiss the top of his head a couple of times, then the comforting weight of Cas’s chin resting on his head, and other than the soothing sound of the instrumental version of rock songs Cas likes to fill the house with in the background, they’re completely silent for what feels like a really long time.

“I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to worry.”

Of course, that immediately sends him into a full-blown panic. He pushes halfway out of Cas’s arms to look up at him. “Sam? Eileen? The kids?” 

Cas shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. Everybody we love is safe and healthy, as far as I know.” Dean exhales loudly with relief and sinks back into the comfort of Cas’s arms. Once his heartbeat has slowed back to normal, Cas continues. “I spoke with Donna, the blonde lady across the street.”

“The cop?” Dean prods.

“Yes. I wondered what she might think about the flag being egged. She suggested that while it’s most likely just a couple of kids being careless as kids typically do, it might also be targeted vandalism, or... a hate crime.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “You didn’t really think the egging and the flag were unrelated, did you?”

“No,” Cas admits. “But once Donna pointed out that we could use a police report on the vandalism as evidence against somebody if things were to escalate, I thought that was probably a good idea and I called the police.”

“What do you mean, ‘escalate?’”

Cas tightens his arms around Dean as if they might be able to shield him from whatever Cas is about to say. “We can’t operate under the assumption that there isn’t somebody out there wanting to cause us harm because of what that flag represents.”

“Okay. That’s...” Dean swallows down his fear, the mind-numbing fear of somebody wanting to cause harm to his husband, and continues, “Well, that’s scary as fuck, honestly, but it’s not like it’s brand new information. There’s tons of homophobes out there who would hurt anybody like us if they had the chance.”

“That is... depressingly true,” Cas admits. “But I think the difference here is that now we know for sure that at least one person who has that mindset knows where we live.”

Thinking of Cas being here all day every day by himself has his heart clenching with fear. It’s not that Cas can’t handle himself, because Dean knows first-hand that Cas is weirdly strong, but this is fucking America. No matter how strong Cas is, all it would take is one hateful fucker with a gun and—

“What are we gonna do?” he asks, his voice tight.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do. We just have to be more careful. Extra vigilant.”

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” Dean jokes automatically, and he feels Cas’s chest rise and fall with a huff of laughter. 

“Yes, be like Mad Eye Moody is precisely what I had in mind,” Cas jokes back.

“Well, it’s no magic eye, but what about security cameras?” Dean suggests. “We can get them for the front door. Maybe catch the next fucker who thinks it’s funny to egg our flag.” He hesitates before adding, “And that way, you’d know who it was when somebody comes to the door when you’re here alone.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums. “I’m not particularly worried about that, but if it would make you feel better, we can get them.”

“And you’ll check them before you open the door,” Dean adds, not asking.

“I will,” Cas promises.

“And you’ll bring your phone with you when you go for a run, even if you hate the stupid arm band. And you’ll switch up your route so nobody can find a pattern and ambush you,” Dean demands.

“Dean,” Cas says, stopping him before he can keep going. “There’s something else I have to tell you about today, too.”

Dean closes his eyes and breathes through a fresh wave of panic. “Tell me you weren’t just easin’ me into it.”

“No, nothing like that, my love. This would be the good news to counter the bad.”

“Thank Christ.”

Cas kisses the top of his head again. “After the police left, I came inside to gather up some cleaning supplies to get rid of the mess outside. I was upset and scared, and I wound up staying inside for a little longer than I meant to.” Cas tenses here, and he knows there’s something Cas isn’t telling him. “And when I went back outside, there were two of our neighbors out there already cleaning it up.”

Dean pushes himself back to sit up. “Ellen and Jo?”

Cas sits up as well, placing his hand on Dean’s knee. “Ellen, yes, but Jo was at work. The other one was Missouri Moseley, the lady who fosters all those kids.”

“She’s old as shit,” Dean comments, shocked that she’d hobble over to help clean up.

Cas snorts a quiet laugh. “I’m pretty sure she’d cuff you over the back of the head if she heard you say that. She’s—both her and Ellen, actually—they’re very strong, formidable women, Dean. They said that they’ve noticed the things we do for the neighborhood. How you shovel Donna’s driveway and bring in Ellen and Jo’s garbage cans, how we helped them carry in their furniture.”

“That’s just neighborly stuff,” Dean tells him. “Everybody does that shit.” He’s confused about how this fits in with the rest of what they’ve been talking about. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“They said they’re going to keep us safe,” Cas declares, his eyes a little teary. “They said they’re going to spread the news to the rest of the neighborhood, and that they’ll all keep an eye on us, on the house, on the neighborhood. They—” Cas stops to release a shaky breath. “Miss Moseley said she was sure she’d be able to get the egg out of the flag, so she took it home to wash it for us. She wants us to put it back up. Ellen said the same thing. They told me that they knew how hard this was going to be for us, but not to be ashamed, not to be afraid, and to be who we are without apology because what we have—what you and I have—is something worth celebrating.”

Dean lifts his hand to swipe at the tears building behind Cas’s beautiful blue eyes, his heart so fucking full with gratitude for his neighbors being here for Cas when he couldn’t be that it actually aches with the weight of it. “They reminded me that what we have is so fucking special, Dean. Even strangers can see it. And I don’t care if our house gets egged every day for the rest of our lives, I’ll go out there and I’ll clean it up and I’ll hang that flag after Missouri washes it again and again without apology, because I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of _ you. _ And I’m so incredibly proud to love you and be married to you—”

Dean leans in and kisses him full on the mouth, holding Cas there with his hands framing his face and their lips pressed firmly together for several seconds before he pulls away just to peck his husband’s full bottom lip consecutively over and over. 

“I fucking love you,” Dean says between kisses. Cas whimpers against his mouth and Dean delves in with his tongue, heat shooting through him at the first point of contact and spreading quickly through his body. Because he knows this isn’t the time for that, he pulls away before he can’t, and rests his forehead against Cas’s, pushing his fingers back through Cas’s thick hair. “I love you, and _ because of you, _ I don’t give a shit what some ignorant fucker with a carton of eggs thinks about that.”

Cas nods his head, breathing hard. “I was so scared—I was worried that you would push—”

“No,” Dean says, cutting him off. “I’m not the same guy I was before you came along, okay? I know I freaked out when I first saw it this morning, but that wasn’t because I was having second thoughts or doubt or anything like that when it comes to me and you. It just brought back all the other shit. My dad and Cassie—”

“I know,” Cas tells him, tilting his chin up to kiss _ him _ this time. “I understand why you were upset.”

Dean leans back enough so that Cas can see his face, because it’s important that he hears this and knows that Dean means it. “And the first thing I did when I was upset about some piece of shit egging our house was call for you, Cas. I didn’t push you away when I could hear my dad’s words in my head, I clung to you instead. And all damn day all I could think about was getting home to you, because... because you’re my safe space. You’re my home, and I’m proud of that, too. Proud of you. Proud to be your husband. There’s not enough eggs in the world to change that, okay? You don’t have to worry about that anymore. Not ever again.”

Cas nods again, relief visible on his face and in the small smile he gives Dean. “We’re going to be okay.”

“So much better than okay,” Dean promises. “Hell, I’m ready to paint the whole house rainbow just to give whoever egged us a bigger target. They wanna hate gay? I’ll _ show them _gay.”

“As much as I admire your spirit, you’re not painting our house rainbow,” Cas says firmly. “It would clash horribly with the flag.”

Dean snorts a laugh at his husband’s dry sense of humor. The flag reminds him of what he said about their neighbors, though. “I can’t believe Missouri is washing that for us.”

“Their kindness was very moving,” Cas admits. 

“Nice to put some names to faces, too,” Dean says. “Donna, Missouri.”

“And apparently Big Head’s name is Arthur Ketch,” Cas adds.

Dean grimaces. Douchey name for a douchey dude. “I’m still calling him Big Head.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that.”

Dean grins as he reaches for both glasses of wine, passing Cas his. “Now that we’ve gotten the chick flick moment outta the way, can we go back to ordering in, getting wine drunk, and ignoring the movie we’re going to spend twenty minutes arguing over because we’re too busy making out?”

Cas smiles nice and wide, big enough that he can see a strip of his pink gums above his teeth. “That sounds perfect.”

And it’s exactly what they do.

They use a delivery service, and Cas splurges on sushi while Dean goes for a few pounds of wings and some fries, and they both share an order of Tornado Potato, which is basically spiral potato chips with some delicious spicy dip drizzled all over them. Wine and wings is a weird combination even for him, but he powers through and happily opens a second bottle before they settle in for the movie. 

They agree on the movie faster than usual, and probably thanks to Dean’s _ CONSTANT VIGILANCE _ remark, they wind up watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. They’re both on the good side of tipsy by now, and as usual for Dean, he gets handsy as more and more alcohol works its way into his system. He’s not really expecting his wandering hands to get him anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy the sensation of running his palm up Cas’s well-muscled thigh. He caresses his hip bone, tracing the indent just above it with his thumb and wishing viscerally that it was his tongue right now, then slips his hand up his husband’s shirt and travels the warm skin and sinewy muscles of his lean, runner’s body. 

Because he’s a little shit, he lets his fingers dance over Cas’s chest until they find his nipple, and he flicks his thumb over it just to make it harden. Once he feels the firm nub spring to attention, he rolls it between his forefinger and his thumb, grinning when he hears Cas’s breath catch in his throat. 

The grin disappears when Cas’s hand curls around the back of his neck and pulls him up for a kiss, because when Cas’s tongue pushes past the seal of his lips and flicks against his sinuously, it’s no longer funny. This isn’t teasing anymore, and Cas’s hand pushing down his back and curling around his hips to lift him until their groins are aligned is a hell of a lot more than he expected to happen. Cas’s hands slip up over his hips to get two handfuls of his ass, and when he feels his husband’s half-hard cock dragging against his, he is suddenly and enthusiastically one thousand percent on board. 

They rock together on the leather couch they took three months to agree on, their mouths fused to one another and their shirts rucked up just enough to give them the illusion of skin-to-skin. They’re in no rush, no hurry to reach the finish line, and not for the first time, Dean finds there’s something magical and intimate about moving in slow, synchronized rolling thrusts with Cas. Their mouths finally part, and before he even takes a breath he whispers, “Love you.” And then his lips are starting a trail down Cas’s face to press a kiss to the underside of that sharp jaw he loves so much, to feel the scrape of facial hair against his lips, to dip his tongue to the hollow of his clavicle.

He pulls a rasping breath from Cas, and the hands that haven’t moved from his ass for the past god knows how long now drift up just enough to slip beneath the waistband of his pajamas and push them down. Dean leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses to Cas’s neck at the same time he lifts his hips in invitation, moaning quietly when he feels his cock spring free. He looks down between them when he feels Cas shift around, and watches raptly while Cas pushes his own pants down. Dean lowers himself again purposefully, carefully lining them up until he feels the hot length of his husband’s cock pressed closely against his. The first dry drag of their cocks together has sparks shooting up his spine and a sharp exhale leaving his mouth. Cas reels him in by the side of his face and captures his lips in a deeply passionate kiss, and they go right back to rutting together like a couple of horny teenagers.

Except there’s nothing adolescent about Cas. Not when he’s all man, hard muscle, and big hands playing his body like a fiddle. And _ god, _ when Cas holds eye contact and pulls Dean’s hand to his mouth to lick a long, sloppy wet stripe along his palm, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if his skin burst into flames.

Taking the silent request for what it is, he drops his hand between them and takes both of them into his grasp. Cas leans up for another kiss, and this time when his husband’s tongue pushes into his mouth it’s hot and dirty, and Dean increases the force of his lips to match Cas’s. They kiss passionately, lips and tongues and teeth meeting, twisting, nibbling, breaking only to drag in harsh, needy breaths when Dean moves up to stroke their cockheads together. 

Cas always gets so fucking wet, and Dean’s cock is _ throbbing _ with how hot it is when he uses Cas’s precum to slick up the both of them, his breath catching when he feels the contrasting sensations of their rock hard cocks covered by velvety soft skin glide trough the circle of his fist. 

_ “Fuck, _ Dean.” Cas gasps against Dean’s lips as Dean swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Faster,” Cas urges him, diving in for another fiery kiss.

When Cas’s massive hand completes the circle around them, Dean shudders at the additional dry friction, the familiar tightening low in his groin telling him he’s getting close. With Cas stroking them just right, picking up speed every time his hand moves up and down their combined girth, Dean keeps his fingers focused on their cockheads, circling and twisting and dancing his fingers over their slits. He knows when they’re reduced to sporadic kisses between heavy panting that they’re both almost there, and it’s only a matter of minutes from then when Cas starts chanting his name.

_ “Dean, _ Dean, oh god, Dean.”

“I got you, gorgeous,” Dean promises him. “Wanna see you come all over yourself. Wanna see how fucking hot you are when you fall apart for me. Come on, Cas, give it to me.”

Cas mewls, a high-pitched, broken sound as he begins thrusting hard and fast through their hands. Dean feels his blood boiling in his veins, getting hotter and hotter as Cas begins to tense beneath him, his muscles locking up and his hand flying over their dicks now. 

_ “Oh f-fuck,” _Dean says brokenly. He thought Cas was gonna beat him to the punch for a minute, but not anymore. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

Cas grunts, and Dean feels his cock kick in his hand a split second before Cas comes _ hard. _ The first splash of hot liquid falls over his fingers, Cas’s release exploding from his cock in thick but watery spurts, and just seeing the state of bliss Cas is in after blowing his load three times in less than twenty-four hours has Dean following him right over the edge.

He thrusts through the mess of warm cum Cas left behind on his firm stomach as he starts to add to it, his whole body wracked with the force of it when he hears Cas start to make these unbearably sexy, quiet little whimpers of oversensitivity. 

“Shit, _ fuck,” _ Cas curses as Dean starts to slow down. Then, a breathless huff of laughter and, “My god, I love you.”

Dean chuckles tiredly as he finally stills his hips and lets Cas take his weight, pressing his face up into the space beneath Cas’s chin. “That was _ awesome,” _ Dean breathes. “I love you, too.”

Cas circles his arms around Dean’s back, letting his hands rest on the curve of his tailbone. “You just want me for the sex.”

“For your dick, yeah,” Dean agrees.

Cas lets out a quiet sigh. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing the feeling is mutual.”

Dean snorts a laugh. Then as he catches a flash of color from the TV, he says, “Hey! We didn’t even miss Voldemort coming back! That’s my favorite part!”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s _ supposed _ to be creepy,” Dean points out. “He’s fucking evil incarnate.”

He grabs his shirt off of the floor and wipes up most of the mess between them, then they each pull their pants back up, and Dean lies right back down where he was. “Cedric’s death is like, the most underrated death in the series, I swear to god.”

“Shh,” Cas says firmly. “Not all of us have seen these multiple times.”

“You weren’t complaining five minutes ago.”

He yelps when he gets a sharp pinch to the backside for that, but the sound of Cas’s low, rumbling laugh filling the room makes it all worth it. 

It’s safe to say the day ends a hell of a lot better than the way it started.

Saturday has been Castiel’s favorite day of the week ever since he and Dean started dating. They sleep in on Saturdays, and generally, the day is spent with each other without worrying about the outside world. Dean was living with Sam when they first got together, so they used to spend a lot of time with Sam on the weekends, but Castiel has always felt that Sam complements Dean beautifully, so he never minded that. He and Dean fell into their own routine once they moved in together, and even though Sam and Eileen have children and live more than an hour away now, they still see them on an almost weekly basis. 

He and Dean both agreed to stay here this weekend, though, and honestly, Castiel is looking forward to another lazy day like last night. He has some gardening he’d like to do and a few errands to run, but more than anything, he wants to make sure he can keep Dean feeling as happy, safe, and secure as he obviously did last night.

Which is why even though it’s Dean who usually goes out to grab them coffee (mostly so that he can buy himself a freshly baked sugary breakfast he thinks Castiel doesn’t know about), they decide to go together today. He could pretend it’s because he doesn’t want Dean to be the first one out the door, but Dean knows him well enough to know the real reason, the same way he knows that Dean wants Castiel to go with him so that Castiel isn’t left home alone.

So the two of them walk out the front door hand in hand. Castiel’s stomach is tight with nerves as they walk down the stairs, and he keeps his eyes trained on the front porch for anything that might be out of place, but thankfully, the only thing he sees is their pride flag back on the railing where it belongs.

“Damn, she did it,” Dean comments.

Castiel nods as he tries to find any sign of damage on the flag, pleased but not surprised when he doesn’t find any. He gets the feeling there is very little Miss Moseley can’t do if she puts her mind to it. “It looks just as good as new.”

“It really does,” Dean agrees. “Hey, we should spend tomorrow baking for the neighbors. Ellen and Jo, Miss Moseley, Donna.”

Castiel smiles at his husband’s thoughtfulness. “That’s a great idea. We can make a list of what to add to the shopping list when we get home.”

With that in mind, they open the garage and get into Dean’s car. He can’t help but take stock of his husband while he drives. Dean looks good behind the wheel and surrounded by leather, as he always does, but it looks like his mind is in a good place now, too. He looks well-rested and soft with his hair unstyled, comfortable in his worn weekend clothes as he sings along to Led Zeppelin loudly and terribly off-key, and it warms Castiel’s heart to see it. 

They may be a little more careful over the next little while, but they’ll be okay. 

Dean’s finished most of the box of donut holes before they’re even half way home, but Castiel finds it hard to care when his coffee was made just right. He hums for the third time in pure contentment, earning himself a soft, knowing smile from Dean that would be adorable if his lips weren’t covered in powdered sugar. 

“Nothing like a good coffee, huh?” 

“Nothing,” Castiel agrees.

And he believed that, right until they pulled onto their street.

“Dean?” Castiel says.

Dean’s eyes look like they’re going to bug out of his head, and it’s oddly reassuring to know he’s not the only one having a hard time believing what he’s seeing. Honestly, he might have thought he was hallucinating or something if it wasn’t for Dean’s confused-sounding, “What the hell?”

When they left twenty minutes ago, everything was normal, but now they’ve come back to what can only be described as a wave of rainbow flags.

There’s one on their porch, of course, but across the street, Donna has one hanging from her porch now, too. Big Head has one on the wall next to his front door. The interracial couple has one on their garage. The people who just moved in at the end of the street even have one, Missouri Moseley has maybe the biggest one of all, and Ellen and Jo have _ two. _

“What is this?” Dean asks.

Castiel has no answer, because he’s just as confused as Dean is. As far as he knows, none of these people are a part of the LGBTQ+ community. Of course it’s possible he just doesn’t know, but the chances that _ all _ of them would be queer in some shape or form are basically nil. Just then, he sees Ellen and Missouri standing in front of Dean and Castiel’s flag.

“I think we’re about to figure it out.”

Dean parks the Impala in the garage, and after Castiel helps Dean clean off his face, the two of them get out to talk to the ladies.

Dean breaks the ice by saying, “Guess I shoulda brought more donuts, huh?”

They all laugh, and then Castiel asks, “What’s going on?”

Missouri lifts her eyebrows. “Didn’t I tell you we were gonna have your back, sugar?”

“You did,” Castiel says, still not quite connecting the dots from one thing to another.

“That’s what we’re doing.”

Dean turns to Ellen. “Huh?”

She chuckles and explains, “If somebody in the surrounding area wants to take their bigoted, homophobic, asshole behavior out on a gay pride flag, they’re gonna have to take their pick.”

“I’ve had a couple of girls come through my door in my day who could’ve used a flag on my porch and I didn’t put it up when I should’ve,” Missouri says. “I’m not about to make the same mistake twice. I want my kids to know they’re in a safe place, and now that goes for you boys, as well.”

“If some arsehole wants to pick on somebody for who they love, they can pick on any one of us. It ain’t only going to be the two of you if we can help it,” Ellen says firmly. 

Strength in numbers, Castiel realizes. If there really is some homophobic, hateful person around these parts, Dean and himself won’t be the only ones with a big rainbow target on their house anymore. Missouri, Ellen, and Donna all knew the kind of trouble they were inviting in, and they went ahead and did this anyway. 

To protect them, virtual strangers. 

“I—I’m overwhelmed,” Castiel chokes out. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I told you I’d keep your boy here safe, and I meant it,” Missouri says, looking at Dean. “And now I’m gonna tell you the same thing, sweetie. You don’t need to worry about your man. We’ll keep an eye on him when you’re not around, ya hear?”  
Dean nods, and Castiel can tell by how hard his husband’s throat is working that he’s trying to keep it together. Castiel wraps an arm around his shoulders, but that only seems to make Dean struggle even harder. 

“Shit,” he says breathlessly, dropping his gaze and wiping at his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Missouri asks.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Dean says immediately. He sniffles and pulls it together, and Castiel smiles at how quickly Dean went from emotional to a little boy about to get his ears boxed in from only two words. 

“You’re going to have to teach me how to do that,” Castiel jokes. 

Missouri’s eyes are dancing with laughter, but she only puts a hand on her hips. “Don’t try tellin’ me you’d love him the same if he didn’t give you a hard time.”

Because she’s absolutely right, he can only smile while he nods his head in agreement. 

“I, uh,” Dean starts weakly. “I’m just sorta mind blown that you ladies did all of this for us. I know you helped Cas clean up, too, and you did such a good job getting the egg out of the flag, Miss Moseley.” He smiles almost shyly before he says, “Would it be alright if I gave you a hug, ma’am?”

“Don’t you think that smile’s gonna get you outta trouble with me as easily as it does blue eyes over here,” she warns him, but she opens her arms anyway and Dean swoops in to hug her. He hears a whispered thank you, and then he watches Dean as he catches Ellen in a big bear hug, too, rocking her side to side. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Ellen says, pushing him away with a laugh. 

But then Castiel steps in and hugs them both as well, thanking them profusely as he does. 

“Hey, how’d you do this so fast, anyway?” Dean asks suddenly.

“My kids,” Missouri says simply. “They found the flags at the mall, and they went door-to-door last night handing them out while you two were holed up inside.”

There’s something in the glint of her eye that makes Castiel feel as if she knows _ exactly _ what they were busy doing last night, and he shifts awkwardly foot to foot as he tries to tell himself that not only is it impossible for her to know that, but they’re married and there’s nothing wrong with what they did even if she does. 

“Once I heard that beast of a car start up this morning, I posted in the Nextdoor App, and everybody came out to hang up their flags,” Ellen says. “A few more will go up over the next little while from folks who weren’t home, but this was one hell of a turn out for a twenty minute warning.”

“It’s amazing,” Dean gushes.

Because Castiel agrees, he says, “I really can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to me. How much it means to us,” he corrects, slipping his hand into Dean’s. “We’ve been so happy here since we moved in, and to know that all of you are willing to put your necks on the line just so we can keep that is... truly above and beyond anything we ever would have asked for.”

“That’s why we did it,” Ellen says simply.

“You’re good boys,” Missouri tells them again. “You know damn well you’ve got something special between you most people only ever dream of, and that deserves to be celebrated, not ridiculed.”

“All of us are damn proud of you kids,” Ellen says gruffly. “For how you handled this and how you handle yourselves on a regular basis. I know you don’t have family nearby, but that don’t mean you’re all alone here.”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to have to swallow past a lump in his throat. “Thank you, both of you, so much.”

“Now you two go on inside where you can cry with some dignity,” she orders, making the two of them chuckle quietly. “And don’t you eat the rest of those sweets by yourself, son,” she tells Dean.

Everybody but Dean is laughing when they go their separate ways. Dean looks over his shoulder as if to check he isn’t being followed, then he asks, “How’d she know I haven’t shared any yet?”

Castiel shrugs. “Maybe she’s psychic.”

“Ha ha,” Dean says sarcastically. 

“Well you better share some just to make sure.”

“Always. What’s mine is yours, gorgeous,” Dean says, laying it on so thick he knows Dean can’t be serious. Maybe he’ll download that app just to rat Dean out to Missouri so she can freak him out when she says she knows Dean didn’t share after all. _ That _ would be funny. 

As they reach the top of the steps, Dean tugs him so that they turn around and take one more look at all of the different pride flags hanging throughout the neighborhood. 

“A beautiful sight, isn’t it?” Castiel asks him.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. It’s a really nice moment, standing there with his husband, looking over their neighborhood with his heart full and his spirits high. So, of course, Dean squeezes his ass and says, “Don’t worry, Cas, it ain’t got nothin’ on you.”

Castiel huffs a laugh as he turns away. “And you’re still the gayest thing in the neighborhood.”

He can’t see Dean’s face but he can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Fuckin’ right I am.”

Castiel leans in to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

They both kick off their shoes and walk over to the couch where Dean puts his feet up on the coffee table and Castiel works on finishing his coffee. 

“Now what?” Dean asks. 

“Grocery list?” Castiel suggests. 

“Yeah, I’m almost outta pit stick.”

“I could tell.”

Dean gives him a friendly shove, and just like that, they settle into the same routine of every other weekend, content and in love, but this time, significantly more proud of themselves and each other. 

And obviously, they live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this sounded familiar to you, that's because it was based on a true story. You can find out more about it [ here.](https://www.huffingtonpost.ca/entry/neighborhood-rainbow-flags-egging_n_57bc685fe4b00d9c3a1a0802?ri18n=true)


End file.
